


Crumbs

by tenpointson



Series: The Calamity is Calling [2]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anal Sex, Classism, Don't Like Don't Read, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Main relationship Link/Sheik (male), Male Slash, Multi, New Relationship, Objectification, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Polyamory, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Prostitution, Racism, Recreational Drug Use, Sex Toys, Survival Sex Work, Tags May Change, Work In Progress, more tags with more installments, problematic content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2020-10-18 23:54:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20647790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenpointson/pseuds/tenpointson
Summary: Here is where I'll be putting all the shorts, expansions, side-stories, and exposition for The Calamity is Calling AU story line. This includes the (as of this time) completed Of Cake and Calamity, as well as two more in progress works to be released when I'm done editing/writing them. You can read some parts of this without reading the rest, but it definitely won't all make sense.





	1. Melody

**Author's Note:**

> This installment is a crumb from Chapter 19 of Of Cake and Calamity, part 01/03, and takes place in the same timeline but did not flow well with the rest of the story or the narrator at that particular point. Sheik doesn't consider it significant. Link does. This is, therefore, told from Link's perspective.  
Porn-with-plot.  
Enjoy.

“Intense, and…I don’t know. Enthralling? Electrifying? Thrilling? It…Goddess, love, I don’t know. I just don’t. Not yet at least.” Rolling onto my side and jamming the phone between my face and the pillow means I can use both hands to rub at the tension in my forehead. It doesn’t really help, since that’s not where most of my tension is gathering. It’s not the first time I’ve gotten an erection just talking to her, but those were a deliberate, direct result of the kind of conversation we were having, and not over anyone else.

It’s yet another thing that Sheik’s presence in my life has changed, and, while I don’t…mind, so much, they _are_ inconvenient. I thought that sealing the bond would make them stop…or at least happen with less embarrassing frequency. It’s like I’m fifteen all over again, but thankfully with more discretion and less acne.

“Would you go back to the way it was before?” She hums, straight to the point. Not that I can turn back now. A soul-bond is a soul-bond…and now that it’s in place, losing it would be like cutting off an arm. Plus, I _like_ Sheik. A lot. He’s _interesting_. That’s the problem.

I like him…but I don’t understand him. Not like I understand everyone else that I’ve been in close contact with. That much is evident in how I’m in my room talking about him to my fiancée while he sits on the couch in the reception room studying despite how tired he is. Not that he’ll admit it. No, I need to…tug?…on my side of the Bond to figure even that much out, and doing that gives me far more information than I really asked for or needed to know. Thus, my erstwhile erection. But…would I give it up?

“No. Never.” Sighing heavily, I can feel myself flushing in response to that…extra information. Responding to it, and wanting him because of it. Again, when I don’t even know if he’d be willing or wants _me _in return, or if his…yearning…is simply biological. But that’s not what we were talking about, and I’m not sure if my threshold for embarrassment will stand up to discussing it with anyone else, even my best friend and future wife.

I’ll attend to it – him – once I’m done talking to Tetra. She comes first, always.

“Then what’s really bothering you, babe?” She asks, and stops typing to listen to me whine about how good my life is right now. I’m doing well in school. My friends are supportive and kind. My estate is far enough in the green that seven years of bad luck would still see us in the green. I’m engaged to the love of my life, who is willing to let me babble at any time of day or night. And now I have a Sheik, and all that entails. One who I find _remarkably_...uh…stimulating, and is willing to indulge me in my curiosity.

I should be overjoyed, not still obsessing over a sensationalist television program from two days ago. Particularly his reaction to it. I just get pissed off, but…

“He was so very scared.” I don’t know if it’s due to the bond that I understand just _how_ scared he was, but I’ve never felt anything like that before. Ever. I don’t care to experience it again. Tetra can hear it in my tone, too, and it leaves her silent for a long, long time as she thinks. I’ve been stewing for days, and can’t think of anything myself, but she’s smarter than I am. Especially when it comes to things like this. I _need_ to do _something_. I can’t let it rest.

I also can’t do the first thing that comes to mind, which is march down to the station and challenge Dethl to a duel, nor can I sue for slander on Sheik’s behalf. The footage was already in circulation, and even if – when – I won, all that success would mean is the station would pay a fine, and Sheik would be put even further into the spotlight. There’s no point to doing it, and one very good reason not to.

He doesn’t want me to.

Not that he tells me what he _does_ want. That hasn’t changed, and I really hoped it would.

“How about this?” She says, and I can hear her start typing again. “I’ll ask Gonzo if he can track your stray remotely for the next few weeks, and keep a discrete eye out for anything untoward. That way, if something does happen, we’ll have it on tape. If nothing happens, though, you can show it to the interested parties as proof that summary execution is not a result of a low budget sales pitch disguised as infotainment.”

Her maid must have returned with her nightcap for her to be speaking so indirectly again. That means it’s eleven, and I should be going to bed soon. Not immediately. I have an overwhelmed Sheik with anxiety and questionable coping mechanisms to tend to first, and my own problems because of that, but eventually.

“That…sounds good. I’ll cover the fees.” Even if Gonzo’s my friend too, and not hurting for money, I can’t expect him to work for free. That’s not fair to anyone. Not that I expect anything to come of this, but having _proof_ I can give to Sheik that shows he’s safe is worth the price…almost invaluable, really. I don’t have many means of telling him how important he is, or encouraging his self-esteem…though he’s pretty well primed for the one method I _do _have available to me, tonight.

I’m more than ready to explore that possibility.

I’m not used to the way even thinking of him makes my temperature spike and my heart speed up. Tetra makes me feel…secure. Malon makes me feel happy. Sheik…Sheik makes me _feel_.

Goddess. Is this what he sees when he looks at me? The sheer _intensity_ is an adrenaline rush comparable to the first time I managed to complete Selmie’s Skiing Slalom without wiping out even once, and it’s all him. All him. I was tired enough to drop off right away before I called Tetra, and now…now I’m hard enough that it won’t go away on its own, and it’s only an partial echo of what he’s feeling.

“I’ll send the bill your way, then. Good night, babe. We’ll talk more tomorrow.” She purrs.

“Thank you, love.” I hum back. “Sweet dreams.” Rolling back over as she disconnects, I set my alarm to an hour later and plug my phone in to charge, then straighten the pillows and blankets out so they’re smooth again. Not as smooth as when Ulli does it, but enough to show that I at least put in the effort. Digging the lube out from behind the box of condoms on Sheik’s side of the bed, I put it in easy reach, and head to the washroom.

We haven’t had penetrative sex since Nonna’s, even though he’s indicated he’s ready for it, repeatedly. We’ve only fooled around a bit with the whipped cream from my breakfast, though he’s given me two – no, three – blow jobs. That’s not fair. His pleasure matters, too…and with the Bond, I’ll be able to tell for certain when he’s enjoying himself, or if he’s just going through the motions of enjoyment because he thinks it’s expected of him.

Not that he fakes it, and not that he wasn’t enjoying what we _have_ done. Even the mess with the whipped cream. He doesn’t lie. But…emphasize what pleasure he does experience, and dismiss what he doesn’t enjoy? Probably. Most likely, actually. So if I can find out what he likes, and then do _that_, why wouldn’t I? I want him to feel as good as I do…mostly so he’ll want to do it again. Maybe right away. Maybe more.

I…hope so. Tetra gets tired after I give her anything more than one orgasm, and Malon needs more and more downtime between rounds, but I haven’t had issues satisfying them both and then needing a bit more than they can give. I’ve gotten used to showers and solo sessions, but now I know Sheik can handle twice in a row for certain, and he’s been getting stronger every day since he moved in so…maybe?

I’ll need more rags, just in case, and one of the firmer pillows from the couch to help support his spine. His rug burn managed to mostly disappear with a single good sleep, so laying him on his back shouldn’t hurt, and I prefer it to the impersonality of the back of his head. It’s easier for me to hear him, see him, taste him, and kiss him, that way. Lube should make it so none of it hurts, no matter which way he’s facing, and a towel will keep Ulli from hurting either of us.

I’ll be able to tell if it hurts him now, too.

Ever since his second day in my rooms, two more towels have shown up on my towel rack, and an extra one has been stashed under the sink in case he wants to towel dry his hair. Not that he washes it every day, but every second day is often enough to make sure everything is ready all the time. The waste bin has been changed to accommodate the bundles of hair left from his brush, and his toiletries have filled my cabinets completely.

It’s…good. They always looked a little empty, a little lonely, beforehand, and I kept products that I tried and didn’t like or ended up not using to fill the space. Now I don’t have to. I grab the spare towel and a bottle of lotion in case he needs another massage. Or wants one. It’s an excuse to run my hands all over him, yes, but I do know enough technique that I can help with some muscle tension and stiffness before it becomes a problem. He’s always so tense, it has to be uncomfortable.

Sure enough, he raises a hand to rub at his neck as I turn the corner, letting out a soft sigh before going back to whichever textbook has him in its clutches. Probably anatomy, given the way he glances at that same hand as it flexes, and then back to the book, and back to his hand again. His hair is draped over the couch in a shimmering golden fall to dry from his bath this afternoon, nearly eight hours ago now. He’s wrapped in the decorative throw and propped up with all of the pillows, knees drawn up as a makeshift desk instead of using the table less than an arm’s reach away.

He’s so immersed in his textbook – the chapter on mammalian osteology – that he jumps straight up in the air when I touch his shoulder with a startled yelp even though I made no effort to hide my approach.

“Shit, Link! Cough or something.” He huffs, and bends over to pick up his dropped text.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” I apologize.

“Next time _you_ can tell Ulli why the couch needs to be cleaned.” Sliding the text onto the table next to his charging slate he takes the time to stretch out the kinks from sitting in one position too long and shows off the long, lean line of his stomach. I want to lick it, but I’m…not certain it’s intentional. Not anymore. Not when I can do that little tugging thing and get a range of feelings, none of which are deliberately teasing or enticing.

It leaves me at a loss. I’m…not good at taking charge, like Tetra is, or flirty like Malon can be when she wants something. I worry too much unless I don’t think about it at all.

At least I’m not as awkward as Niko. Usually. Tonight is apparently an exception.

“Would you let me do your hair?” I ask, instead of the thousand other things I could have said that would have been better. “It’s nearly time for bed.” That’s better, but still not quite right. “I’d…that is, I’d appreciate…uh…”

“Link.” He grins, rolling his eyes at me. “It’s easy. You ask “wanna fuck?” and then I say “yes” and then we fuck.”

“I was going to.” I swear. “Just…with more words, some making out, and maybe a massage first?”

“Or maybe you could just say “I wanna fuck” and turn me over, pull down our pants, and we fuck.” He breathes, dropping the throw entirely and rocking forward to get to his feet. “That’s good too.”

“Not on the couch.” Shaking my head gets him to pause as soon as he’s standing up, and puts him close enough to touch. I can’t resist doing so, and take his hands to tug him a half step closer yet. “Ulli _would_ have to clean it, and I’ve got everything we need set out on the bed.”

“Except me.” That smirk positively sizzles, and his eyes darken as he tilts his chin up. Deliberately. Enticingly. I still need to ask.

“Except you, if you’re okay with that.” His hair is so soft against my hands as I slide them around his nape to cup the back of his head…and so very heavy. It’s like lifting three of the throw blankets at once.

“I’m okay with that. I just need to clean up a bit, first.” The way he leans his head into my hand tells me that a massage would be appreciated. The way he leans his body into mine tells me that a massage will have to wait until afterward. The way his temperature rises tells me it didn’t have far to go. The way his eyes flutter closed tells me everything else I need to know, and I give in to his subtle queues to give him the kiss he’s expecting.

Warm lips. Soft skin. Gentle pressure. Even without the damnable siren song lure of the open Bond, I want more of him than this, no matter how sweet it is.

More pressure. Parting lips. A wet mouth. How wet is something I know full well. How skilled. How heinously lewd. I want more.

“Mm!” He squeaks as I trace his molars with my tongue, tangling his tongue with mine. Sucking me in. Rocking against me. Responsive. Welcoming. Perfect.

I still want more.

Not that I’m dissatisfied when I pull back from tasting him, leaving him panting, lips swollen, hair disheveled. That won’t do.

“Here, let me just…take care of this.” I murmur as his eyes flutter, and slide around to gather his hair in my hands while he licks his lips. Lifting the mass of honey-gold strands takes both hands and both eyes to be certain I’ve got it all, but I can still listen to him as he stills beneath my touch. The difference between breaths tells me he’s uncertain as well as aroused, but he doesn’t say anything as I part and then braid his hair without any of the things he puts in it during the day.

He hands me an elastic from around his wrist when I’m done, and even though a lot of his nerves have disappeared, so have his sensual responses. The flush of arousal has faded, and he pulls his braid over his shoulder to inspect it as my hands slide around his waist. I get to see his lips press together before he pulls away.

“I’ll go clean up.” He swallows, red eyes bright, his tone soft and…shy? A tug on the Bond confirms that startled assessment. What does he have to be shy about? I’ve seen him naked before, and while I still think he’s too thin to be really healthy, it’s not something that he needs to be self-conscious over. He’s already beautiful. Another couple kilos would just take off some of his sharp angles and make him impossibly so.

“I’ll be waiting.” I promise him, and instead of reassuring him like it was supposed to, my words make him shrink further away. Further into himself.

“I know. I’m sorry.” His eyes drop to the floor as he turns and practically flees into the washroom, closing the door firmly behind himself and going so far as to lock it. I can hear the click.

What…just happened? It was going so well. Tetra never…but he’s not Tetra. Or Malon. He’s Kaya, and Kaya is very different from the other people who have been my lovers, and not just because he’s a man. Is it a Sheikah thing, with his hair? Is that what it was? I…no. He’s allowed me to touch and tend to his hair before, so it’s not that. He doesn’t have the same horribly debilitating headache that he had yesterday, either, and is as healthy as he’s ever been, so what…

He said he was sorry, immediately after I said I’d wait for him. No, that’s not right either. I said I’d be waiting for him. I meant in bed, with the things I’ll need for us to make love, after he’s finished getting ready. Not…it wasn’t a criticism of him not _being _ready. That’s ridiculous. _No one_ can be ready and willing all the time, and I didn’t give him any warning so he could prepare himself. Didn’t offer to help with that myself, even though I’d like to.

I think…I think I’m right, though. That would definitely explain the urgency and shame that’s on the other end of the Bond right now. That…won’t do. Not when part of the reason I want to do this with him is to learn about _his_ pleasure. What _he_ likes. If it were just about me, the oral and cuddling would be more than enough…but I _know_, now, what he feels, if not why. At least, the strongest parts…and I’m curious.

Given his nickname among the other Sheikah, the adage about curiosity killing the cat and satisfaction bringing it back only makes me want to satisfy him _more_. I can’t do that if I don’t know what he likes, and I can’t find out unless he tells me or I experiment. Since he won’t tell me, I have to poke and prod at him to get a response, and that means…striding over to the bathroom door, I knock sharply to get his attention while I have a literally captive audience.

“Clean up only, Sheik. I want to do the rest.” Putting the onus of responsibility on him to be physically ready for the act isn’t fair, especially when I gave him no warning.

“You don’t need to.” He protests, voice echoing in the small room. “I should be…”

“I want to.” Interrupting him makes me feel guilty, but not as guilty as I’d feel if I didn’t at least learn how. Every source I could think to check – including some that were definitely not educational in the least but gave me some interesting ideas for later – said that preparation, _foreplay_, makes it better, and I haven’t really done that.

As Sheik said, we’ve fucked. We haven’t made love. Not even at Nonna’s, proving to me that it isn’t the location, but my partner and the connection we have to each other that makes it special. Not that it doesn’t feel good, just…I want to try again. My heart says I have to, especially if he’s going to be such a big part of my life from now on.

My libido says I should try again, and again, and again anyway, no matter what he thinks, and that I should do so immediately. And frequently. Every opportunity, in fact, even if I have to make them myself.

I tell it to take a walk. A short one, but enough of a walk to cool down a bit before he’s finished in there so I can tend to him properly. I should take all of me for a short walk, actually, and grab that pillow I was going to get before I got distracted by his hair.

Tucking that beneath the towel, achingly hard, I give in and stroke myself for a bit of a taste of what’s to come. Thinking about him for hours has left me in quite a state, and patience has never been a virtue of mine, so taking the edge off a bit helps. I need to, or I might not be able to wait long enough to tease him like I want to. Touch him like I want to. Listen to him gasp in pleasure.

That means I’m standing awkwardly next to the bed, pants around my hips, jerking off, when he emerges completely naked, eyes still downcast.

“Uh…hey.” I manage, and feel my face heat. Not because of embarrassment, but because of the pure lust that jolts through my entire system and then pools in my groin. Goddess, he’s gorgeous. Tattoos and all. I couldn’t stop my hand if I tried…so I don’t try. It feels too good.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” He apologizes, again, for something that isn’t his fault. I’d offer a correction on that account, but without breaking his stride he sinks to his knees before me and swallows me whole.

“Oh!” It’s all I can do to gasp as my hand finds its way into his still braided hair, letting him get the last of me in his mouth…and throat. I remembered how wet it is pretty well, but forgot entirely about the warmth.

“Mmm.” He moans around my shaft, and starts to bob his head.

“Sheik, wait!” I pant. I was going to…going to…

I forgot about the suction as well.

…Holy Hylia his _tongue._

“Sheik!” I was going…to…to… “Nn!” …I’m cumming. I tug on his hair to try and warn him, but it’s too late. I’m cumming, and I’m cumming _now_.

He’s not expecting it any more than I was, and ends up choking and coughing as a result. On his knees as mine buckle. I fall from his mouth with an absolutely _obscene _slurp, thick spurts covering his face and chest as I do.

_Goddess._

Maybe masturbating was a bad idea…but damn if it didn’t feel amazing.

“Eughk. Kh. Haaaah. Ekhu…”

Right.

Reaching for one of the cloths takes a lot more effort and concentration than it did to put them within reach in the first place, and my hands are shaking as I carefully wipe at my mess. I’m smearing it into his skin more than clearing it off, but he doesn’t protest. He just takes the rag from my hand and spits into it with a wet gurgle, then reaches past me for another to actually clean himself off.

“Sorry.” I apologize as he finishes with his face and moves on to his chest.

“No, I should have noticed how worked up you were and gone cock snorkeling earlier.” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I won’t make the same mistake again.” He coughs, and clears his throat. “Is twice a day enough, or will you need to cum more often? Once classes start up again the morning will be tricky, but afternoons and evenings you have a number of places you could…slot it in.” That smirk. That _pun_.

Good _Lady_.

“While that was a good one, and I uh, appreciate the appeal to humor, no, Sheik. That’s not the point.” I sigh.

“Really? You came pretty damn fast for that not to be the point. A little warning would have been nice.” To emphasize his point, he hacks and spits into the second cloth as well before setting them both aside. I…should probably ask for a rag bin, all things considered.

“I didn’t ask for you to do that, so yeah, a little warning _would _have been nice.” I growl right back. “I wanted to do _better_ than I did the last two times, not worse.”

“Two…oh. Oh!” His head snaps up to take in not only the rags and my spit slicked erection that really isn’t fading much, but the towel, the pillow, and the lube as well. “Saints and Sages, Link, I’m sorry. I thought you just needed to blow a load to get to sleep, not that you wanted to make a chocolate cream pie.”

…one day, I will not be surprised by the repertoire of euphemisms and innuendos he has available. Maybe. Until then, I think the only safe thing to do is not think about them too hard. Shaking my head to try and purge that last one, I get back to my feet, and help him up to his.

“I _wanted_ to be a better lover. There’s only so much I can learn from outside sources before I have to turn to a more hands-on approach.” He’s still flushed, and still hard, but growing more confident the more I admit I don’t really know what I’m doing.

“Hands-on, huh?” He says softly, blushing a bit. Cute. “Well…fuck me. Literally. Learn by doing.”

“That was the plan, until someone blew it.” I pout, teasing. It gets him to lift his gaze to meet mine, and then slap my arm so lightly that it might as well be a caress. His lips are swollen and red.

“That pun was just as bad. You’re not exhausted already, are you?” He grins, teasing right back. Given how well he could read my mood _before _the Bond set, he knows full well that I’m not, and is just…playing. Maybe seeking confirmation as well, but…definitely playing.

“Not hardly.” I grin back, waggling my eyebrows like a lecherous villain just to keep him amused.

“Grab the lube then.” Patting my pectoral, he turns and climbs onto the bed, laying down over the towel. “I don’t need more than that, but if you want to do this with anyone less, um, _experienced_, you’ll want to finger them a bit to let them get used to the feeling before actually putting anything inside.”

Good to know. Nothing I didn’t _already_ know, but having the theory confirmed by someone who _is_ experienced – though I’m pretty sure I don’t really want to know just how experienced he is, or _why_ – gives me the confidence to start learning right away. Not that I expect to be doing this with anyone but my lovers, either. I don’t even know if either of the other two are interested.

Sheik definitely _is_. Has been for hours. Days, really. I should have paid more attention to his…encouragements. Would have, had I realized that’s what they truly were.

“I can take two fingers right off…” He tells me, rushing things forward by claiming the bottle of lube and expertly coating both my middle and pointer fingers without spilling any on the sheets. “…and it feels pretty good, so don’t worry too much.”

“Just enough?” I ask, and carefully crawl onto the bed as he rolls onto his belly and over the pillow so I don’t make a mess, either.

“Just enough. Worry more with someone who hasn’t done this before, like…like any other physical activity. Form is important.” He tells me, and guides my hand between his legs. I was going for his butt, to massage the powerful muscle there, but am more than willing to let him set the pace.

“Like this?” I ask, and circle with the same level of gentle pressure I generally start massaging at. His skin, for once, is warm, and I wait for further instruction. More pressure or less, longer or shorter strokes? I don’t know.

“Heh…yeah, like that.” He huffs out a laugh and wiggles. “But I told you, I can take two. You don’t need to tease.”

“Maybe I want to practice everything my teacher tells me.” I suppose, and he snorts. “Better to be thorough.”

“Oh, Din damn it. You’re going to drive me up the curtains before driving me into the sheets, aren’t you?” He moans. “I am _not_ getting up at six, if that’s the case.”

“I already reset the alarm.” I can see how the specific conscious relaxation he’s doing could turn reflexive quickly in someone who isn’t expecting it when I press the tip of my pointer finger into him. This much is familiar to me, as is the second, in time. The third I don’t remember, and pay specific attention to how things change with the introduction.

“Oh, okay. Mm. Feel the…the tension?” He asks, clenching around two pointers and a middle. “Use the one to slide in and out a…a bit, and oh, oh yeah, scissor the other two. Both…ha, yeah…both motions are good. Different. Good. Yeah. Just like that.”

“Anything else?” I ask, concentrating on doing two different things at once, and how he’s responding to it. The tension he mentioned, and the corresponding softness. How slick everything glides. The small lifts and twitches of his hips and thighs. The soft puffs of breath and growling moans that each motion draws from him.

“Stop teasing me?” He gasps. “I need something a fuck of a lot…ah, Goddesses…I need something thicker than your damn fingers stretching me out!”

“Not yet.” I’m sure he’ll be fine with this much prep. He’s been fine with less…but I want to be a better lover than I have been, and that means patience and putting him ahead of my own pleasure. We haven’t done that, yet. Not once.

“Eight. Not getting up until eight!” He groans, arching and twisting and squeezing my fingers.

“You can sleep as late as you want.” I certainly won’t make him get up on a weekend. Not any weekend. “In fact, you don’t have to leave my bed at all, if you don’t want to.”

“Fuck off, of course I…oh _shit_!” He yelps, and I freeze. “No…no, no, no, fuck, do that again!” The whine he lets out as I press down again shudders all the way through him, making him arch his back and clench his glutes. “Holy _fuck!_”

The next press has him gasping and twitching, and I note the slightly spongy texture and where that particular spot is. How deep. What angle. Press again. His flush spreads. Hips rise. Eyes close as I rub. More. Again. Press. Listen to him swear. Rub against that spot that makes his breath catch, has him humping the pillow, pressing back against my hand, sure and steady.

“….ah! Ha! Ngh…” In contrast to how loud he is the rest of the time, his peak is relatively quiet, and much more physical than vocal. Trembling limbs, shaking uncontrollably. Gritted teeth. A deep flush over the bridge of his nose, spreading into his chest. Phenomenal pressure around my fingers, and then everything stops. He slumps over onto the stained towel and moans, utterly limp. Perfectly relaxed.

I wipe my fingers off and spread his butt cheeks open to check. The puckered ring of his anus is still reddened from my fingering, but as soft and malleable as I’ve yet to see it. Mission accomplished, in more ways than one.

“Oh, fuck.” He whines, panting and sweating from the exertion of his orgasm. “That…that’s my uh, prostate. Ha…mm. Hn. Mm.”

“Feel good?” I ask, knowing the answer, and reach for the lube again. I was teasing him too long, and my erection is dry again. No matter how relaxed he is, I know from Malon being a little too eager that I don’t like the drag being too dry brings, and lubricant makes it good.

“Orgasmic.” He groans, fisting the edge of the towel. “Good. Ha. Yes. Real good.”

“My turn, then?” Listening to him, teasing him, playing with him, fingering him for the last eighteen minutes has left me aching again.

“Oh, Goddesses, please.” He whimpers, and reaches back to hold himself open for me. I squirt one pump of lube directly into that opening, and use a second on myself. Then it’s simply a matter of adjusting my angle as I penetrate him and shift to lie over his back at the same time.

“Oh, yesssss.” He hisses out once I’m secure inside. “Pin me down, use me. Fuck me. Please.” He begs.

I roll my hips against him once as a promise, and tug his hands from his butt up over his head so I can tangle our fingers.

“Oh. _Oh._ Ha. Mm. Mm! Ah…” He purrs as I move, sounding as warm as he feels. I can’t quite reach his mouth with mine, and settle for kissing what skin I can instead. His jaw. Neck. Shoulder. Nibble on his ear as he undulates beneath me in time with my rocking hips.

“Sheik.” I gasp when he clenches himself around me, and am rewarded with an utterly wicked chuckle, but that’s not quite right.

“Feel good?” He pants, doing it again, squeezing my cock and my hands at the same time.

“_Kaya_.” That’s right. That’s just right.

“Oh!” He squeaks as I take over our pacing, driving into his welcoming warmth over and over and over again. His hand shake, breaths coming in rapid succession, synchronized with my thrusts.

“You feel so good.” I moan, biting down on his shoulder to keep from saying or doing anything prematurely. I _like_ him, and not just because he somehow manages to lift his hips up into it in a display of strength I didn’t know he had.

“Fuck, give it to me.” Not just because of that, or the way his heart pounds to match mine. No.

It’s more than that. I just can’t put it into words.

My fingers ache when I release my grip on his hands to exchange for a firm grip on his hips, holding him steady so I can find that part inside him that makes him tremble. He helps, his thighs parting further, giving me more space to move. The bedframe shakes, but I know I’ve found it when his hands reach back to grab my thighs and hold me in place as the one eye I can see rolls back in his head and his mouth falls open but no sound comes out.

It lets me hear _him_. The melody that encompasses everything he is, and it’s beautiful, but fractured. He’s too scattered, when he should be nothing but a mass of pure sensation. Pure pleasure. That’s how I know – with both Malon and Tetra – I’ve done well. That sound. He’s so close, but...

Letting go of his hip to slide my hand beneath us both, I find the one element I’ve neglected all this time. At his direction, yes, but it’s still part of him. He’s still a man, and it still works.

He goes as rigid as the organ in my hand, melody stuttering, as if that simple touch is shocking to him when I find it. Hold it. Feel it. The heat. The weight.

“Mmm, yeah. There we go.” Whatever his other lovers have said or done, I don’t care. I like _him_ – _all_ of him – and don’t mind showing him that in a way that he can’t possibly misunderstand.

“Link, what…hn!” The sharp exhalation that accompanies my first stroke of his shaft makes him tighten up around my own, still buried to the hilt inside his anus and achingly hard.

“You feel so good.” I praise, and resume the steady, rocking pace that will get me where I need to be, now that I’m where he needs me to be.

“Ha…ha…ah…ngh…fuck…ngh…ngh…mm…ngh, Link! Ah! Ha! Fuck!” He whimpers so beautifully as he finds his pleasure once more. So perfectly tight. So wonderfully warm. So close. Grabbing for his hands once more, he tangles our fingers when I can’t focus enough to do so, too intent on my goal. I’m so close…so very close.

“Kayaaaa…” I groan into his ear, driving into him harder, and he gasps, his melody clearing into one distinct theme instead of the faint tinkling and droning that it has been since the Grand Master renewed his ability to form a bond…the Bond.

It’s not fair. Only when we are as joined as two people can be is his sense of self pure and clear and clean. I can’t…we can’t stay like this. Not forever. Not even for very long. No matter how good it is to be on top of him. Inside him. Goddess, he’s so very, very good.

I want it to keep going. For him to be stable and happy and assured for as long as possible. But I can’t. Physically, I can’t. He’s too much. Too responsive. Too tight. Too wet. Too warm.

“Aaaahhhh…” Too good. Even his vocalization as I grunt harshly and fill him up is too much. Too good. So very good.

Collapsing on top of him as my essence drains out of my very marrow, he grows slicker yet, the heat of my orgasm pouring out to fill him to the brim and beyond. Absolutely full, my last ragged thrusts push out as much as they leave behind, and it trails down his inner thighs to pool on his balls, soaking into the towel beneath us.

It’s all I can do to breathe through it. My harsh panting obscures his melody, and by the time I can untangle our fingers, it’s gone again. Back into the quiet stillness and faint arpeggio strain that I’ve come to know. The soft whine as I pull out of him buries it further, and no matter how I pet, kiss, and tend to him after, nothing brings it back.

He makes a face at the damp cloth I clean him with, and grumbles in the dark until I have him wrapped in my arms. It was better…but I know I can do more. Last longer. Get him there sooner, maybe. We’ll try again tomorrow night, though I will mention my plans sooner than I did today. Enough time for him to be ready once I have everything set up. Today was good. I found his prostate, and know how to use it now to make him feel good. It’s a start. I know he’s asleep when he turns into the embrace, and, content, I follow not long after.


	2. Rhythm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This crumb immediately follows Melody, is part 02/03, and is still in Link's POV. There are a few more vague references to Sheik's backstory in Of Cake and Calamity, takes place in chapter 19, and while it isn't necessary to read that to understand what's happening, it wouldn't hurt, either.  
Warnings: manual sex, oral sex, anal sex, references to past child prostitution, swearing, mild violence, PTSD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a smutty post a little bit early for my self-imposed deadlines so I can go help my youngest sibling get married instead of worrying about it.   
Not beta'd.  
Porn-with-plot.

When we talked about it over breakfast, I didn’t mean I wanted him to interrupt his own studies and be ready for sex at eleven o’clock on the dot. I honestly didn’t, but I forgot who I was talking to. Forgot that, even though he hasn’t said it, I’m almost entirely certain he was an unlicensed prostitute. There’s a reason the sex industry was regulated back during the Reign of Queen Zelda the Benevolent, and most of those regulations are to ensure that everyone involved is safe, comfortable, and can give informed consent.

I’m also almost entirely certain that he was a child when he started, and therefore, no matter how smart or well informed he thought he was, he could _not_ give consent. Probably could not refuse, either. My discomfort comes from uncertainty more than anything else, mostly because I don’t know about his comfort. His expectations, yes, but not his comfort. I also know - from the haste and near violence he keeps goading me towards using – it definitely wasn’t safe.

I do know, though, that no matter what his history, he wants to be here now, with me.

He can’t lie, after all.

Not that he can talk with my dick down his throat, either. I didn’t even have time to kick off my pajama pants before he pounced. Well, dropped to his knees. With that damnable chuckle. And that nimble tongue.

I should be paying attention to his technique so I can return the favor, but all I can think about is his wet mouth and the obscene sounds he’s making with it. How good it feels when he tongues at my balls, sucks on the sensitive tip, strokes my shaft, and then swallows it all.

Either he has no gag reflex, or has suppressed it entirely. I don’t really care which, just…I don’t want to cum like this, and if he keeps this up, I will. I want to cum _with_ him – not just because of him – while we make love. Otherwise, I may as well jerk off in the shower. He still won’t let me touch him like that, stroking him to his peak, let alone allow me to go to my knees for him in return.

I know I didn’t do well the first time…but I had no idea that I failed _that _badly.

He backs off to breathe again, and between strokes of his wrist while he lets the weight of my dick rest on his tongue, I can parse enough words together to make a sentence.

“Wait, Sheik. Stop.” I gasp. It may not be a long sentence, but it’s effective. Sort of. He stops stroking and looking up through his eyelashes at me…and kisses the exposed head of my penis sticking out from beneath the foreskin. My heart stops in my chest with the sheer force of desire that single look sends coursing through my veins, catching my breath in my lungs and a nearly painful pressure low in my gut.

“Mm.” He hums, and I can feel his breath over every nerve. “Half and half, then?” He asks. It’s another euphemism I haven’t heard before, but this one I can piece together quickly. Half and half is short for a blend of half milk, half cream in the same cup of coffee, and so if it’s in reference to a sex act, that must mean something like one of the terms I do know; sixty-nine, where each partner gives the other oral at the same time.

“Yeah.” I nod, fairly jumping at the chance to be allowed to try again. I can do that. I would love to do that. Despite my nerves, I know I won’t get better without practice. He’s an expert, and while that rattles my confidence it also means he’d be a fantastic instructor, and I _really_ want to learn. To have him trembling, leaking before me like he has me now.

“Alright.” He agrees, and goes back to deep throat me one more time before standing up, his hand still gently stroking my erection. With the bed all the way over there, I’m grateful. I don’t mind carrying him – he’s far too light for his height, anyway – but when I’m this aroused it’s easier to walk if I don’t have to lift anything at the same time. Especially something I don’t want to drop. Something precious, and wonderful, and damn sexy. He spins around on his toes as graceful as any dancer, and presses his back against my chest as I step out of the pajama bottoms around my ankles, braid over his shoulder hiding the mark of yesterday’s love bite. I bend my head to give him a matching one on the other side…but he keeps pressing back, holding my spit-slicked dick steady, until the something gives.

“Oh, Goddess!” I gasp, suddenly surrounded by an amazing pressure I’m getting more and more familiar with…and a pulling that’s less than pleasant. Rough. Straining. Almost tearing.

“Mm, call me Kaya.” He moans, and wiggles further down, the going rougher than I really like. Everything…drags inside him, tugging at the sensitive skin of my penis, and I can’t back up any further without actually climbing onto the dresser and probably hurting us both in the process.

“Kaya, wait, please.” I gasp, my hands twitching to try and hold him still.

“Can’t do it?” He snorts, but stops trying to force himself further down my erection. “Doesn’t say much about Miss Risoka’s training if you can’t balance well enough to fuck me like this, does it?”

“That’s not…” I protest, and twist us to the side so I can step back. Step away. “…it’s too dry. I’ll hurt you.”

“So? Sometimes it hurts.” He shrugs. “That just means you’re feeling too good to hold back.”

“It hurts me, too.” I admit, the head of my dick still sore from the friction despite being free of his body.

“Not man enough to power through and take what you want?” He grumbles, crossing his arms and looking away. Looking down. Retreating into himself instead of retreating physically.

“That’s…no…I…” Sputtering, shocked, my brain freezes everything for those few crucial seconds, giving him time to shut down. Shut off. He goes from playful and eager to engage to resigned and eager to get it over with.

“Fine.” The sigh is disappointed and soft, but he’s still hard as he stalks to the bed and lays down on the towel he laid out, flat on his back. “We’ll do it your way.” He asks as he spreads his legs and reaches for the lubricant. “You like it like this, right?” Sticking the tip of the bottle directly into himself, he squeezes a dollop of lube out and throws the bottle at me. “Come fuck me then.”

“Sheik…” Catching the lubricant, if only so it doesn’t make the kind of mess of the carpet that the towel is supposed to prevent on the sheets, I can’t deny that – physically, at least – that _is _the way I like him…but not for any of the reasons I like him that way.

“What?” He growls. “Changed your mind about fucking me now that I’m ready and fucking waiting for it?”

“…never mind.” He is ready. More than ready. He’s been waiting all day, and went to more trouble to get ready for me than I did for him, yesterday. Upset, understandably, that after all the work he put in, I’m not following up on my side of the bargain. It’s not because I don’t want to. I want to. Goddess, do I want to. I’d just like him to be happy. That’s all I really want. Well…that and a little more. _That_ is a want more properly called desire. The air between us is thick with the scent of it, and it fairly drips according to our respective gravity.

Even frustrated and disappointed, he’s beautiful.

And I _want _him. I do.

Patience has never been one of my strong suits…and he’s still waiting. Obviously ready for more than the gentle touches and appreciative praise I’ve given him so far. Wanting me in return. Eager, even, and aroused enough that his pulse flutters with need. I _was_ inside him, only moments ago. It was just too dry. Now he’s wet. Slicked. Waiting.

Not hurting us both with the shadows of abuse that whisper around him in the dark.

It takes me five steps from the dresser to the foot of the bed. Two more to his side. A second squirt of lube in my palm means another half step to put the bottle on the bedside table, a half step back as I soothe the ache of my erection with the cool gel and make the other ache even worse with two coating strokes. A knee up and a slide to get on the bed between his legs, which he helpfully lifts.

“Well? Get on with it.” He snarls, still goading me into rushing and maybe hurting him, even if it is only by accident. Equating haste with desire…a desire that burns within me and cannot be denied, only tempered. If he would just let me _show _him instead of digging his feet into my thighs and his nails into my arms and tugging me onto his prone form. 

Catching myself, steadying my weight over him, I can’t help but wonder. Does…does he want me to hurt him? If so, why? I frown at him as I line myself up. Push in. The lubricant helps a lot, and I have no trouble with the slide, the pressure, the warmth, as I lean in and shift. Deliberately. Seeking.

“Oh! Fuck…” He gasps as I find my place inside of him, closing his eyes and turning his head away from the kiss I was going to give him.

“Better?” I groan instead, and start moving.

“Ish.” He mutters. It’s the last word he says to me the entire time, though he makes no attempt to muffle the sounds he normally makes that are less than words. Sighs and whimpers and moans. A harsh grunt. A high whine. I have to pay closer attention to them than I normally do to know when he’s close, but I still miss the mark and wind up finishing before he can.

My own heavy panting covers most of the soft gurgle of disgust he makes when I stop thrusting into him, and have to rest. Despite my orgasm, I’m not satisfied. Not at all. I just need a moment before I can take the necessary steps to correct that.

“You done?” He grouses, and the complaint in his tone gives me the energy I need to recover completely.

“No.” I huff, and pull out so I don’t hurt either of us when I flip him over and drag his lower half over the edge of the bed, letting go only when he’s got his feet under him. “You like it like this, right?” I ask, curled over his back, whispering in his ear.

“Not that it matters, now that’re you’re going limp.” He complains, rubbing his sweaty face on the bedding even as he tilts his hips up for me.

“Who said that?” I wonder, sliding two fingers in to find his prostate…and avoid touching it directly. My semen makes it squelch as I deliberately tease him closer to the pleasure he’s been building towards since taking off his shirt.

“You just came!” He snarls. “I can _feel_ it when you unload, y’know!”

“Hmm, what’s it like?” I hum, genuinely curious.

“Uh…what?” He stops squirming, confused.

“When someone ejaculates inside you, what does it feel like?” It’s sticky and slimy – like runny snot - on my fingers, and he’s so warm inside that I don’t know if the temperature is residual or transferred.

“Good fucking shit, Link, when you say it like that it feels like a damn science experiment is what it feels like.” He’s blushing, and curling in on himself. Embarrassed…and something else. “Can you not?”

“It feels amazing for me.” I tell him, mostly to reassure him that I do enjoy it. That he’s a good lover…or at least a good partner for distinctly sexual activities. A lover…we’re not there yet. Something crucial is missing. Something I can’t define. “I could manage two or three more times tonight, honestly.”

“Two or three…” He whimpers, and I can’t help but laugh even though I’m not entirely certain I’m amused. The entire situation is just too absurd for me to know for sure.

“You’re the one who challenged my stamina, _Sheik_. I’ve been holding back, because I want you to be able to match me. Pleasure for pleasure. I want you to feel as good as I do when we share a bed…or a dresser, if that’s what you want. I just don’t want to make more of a mess than Ulli can forgive me for.” I admit, and it’s all true. He can tell. Finally looking at me directly, he knows.

“Against the wall?” He gasps, and the embarrassment and whatever else it was disappears with a fresh spike of lust, the flush of interest. His thighs clench in time with his opening around my fingers, and I grin. So he _does_ have fantasies…that’s good to know, but the wall’s even further than the dresser, and he’s perfect right now.

“Later, maybe.” Patience really isn’t my strong suit. “You like it from behind best, right? Like this?”

“Y…yeah, but…” He pants.

“Do you want to lie down on your stomach, or is this good?” He’s still more than slick enough inside, and it feels so warm against my fingertips, the skin smooth and silky, the muscle firm.

“You serious?” He asks, still hesitant. I think a practical demonstration is in order. Pulling my fingers from his reddened sphincter, I grab a rag and wipe my hand off before leaning forward to slide my erection between his thighs, letting the tension of it brush against his perineum.

“That serious enough for you?” I growl, wanting to thrust into the much more satisfying wet tightness of his anus instead of the loose, drier smoothness of the gap between his thighs.

He presses them together for me, for more friction, but it’s not enough. Adjusts the towel as I growl in frustration, low in my throat. Bite his shoulder. Rock us both. Break the skin by accident, taste copper. Just a little bit.

“Oh, Hylia!” He whines, rocking his hips back to meet mine, stretching his arms out to brace. Exactly like he did yesterday. I remember. All of it. I learned.

“Hey, Kaya.” Nudging him forward a bit with my hips gives me enough space to reposition myself against his moist opening, and he clenches down around the head of my penis with a wet slurp. “I wanna fuck you.” Using the swear word makes me blush, but he’s too far gone to care about my profanity.

“Then fuck me!” He barks, giving me the go ahead. “Oh!” He yelps as I penetrate him. “AH, FUCK!” He hollers as give in to my baser instincts and drive into him hard enough that I knock him over onto the mattress anyway. Follow him down. Grind our hips together. Start thrusting immediately. Fast and deep and focused, precisely what he’s been pushing for and what I was trying to avoid.

But he wants it. Wants me. Like this. So I do my best to satisfy him, my rhythm firm, steady, and driving. Intense. The only way it can be, because it’s the only way he’ll accept. Demanding everything I have to give…not that he deserves anything less than my best.

He mewls, hands tangling in the blankets, when I lift his left leg up to tuck it under him. Change the angle. Panting. Better. Beads of sweat blossom on his back as I continue, relentless. It’s close by. Beads of sweat drop from my forehead to make his skin glisten in the lamplight. He’s so beautiful. There’s a deep flush building over the bridge of his nose, turning his skin a molten copper.

I can’t kiss him from this angle. Not really…but he likes it, and that’s what matters.

“Ah, shit!” His back arches as I haul him off the bed to stand up, not stopping in my pacing at all. That puts his hair between us to cling to my chest and his back, but tilts his chin close enough for me grab and hold. I can only kiss the side of his mouth like this, really, and can’t taste any of his words, but the flush is spreading. Deepening.

He’s close.

Very close.

It takes me a few tries to grab his penis – bouncing all over the place with the force of my thrusts – but only a dozen strokes to set him off. I can feel it pulse in my hand as his balls dance and his hole clenches and his thighs tremble and he whimpers. I hold him close, lick at the fresh bite mark on his shoulder, wrapping my arms around his hip and chest, to help him stay upright through his orgasm and recovery.

Gorgeous. The soft sounds of his ecstasy and the way he trembles in my arms, relying on my support to stay upright, pulls me closer. I manage to stop my hips from rocking up into him by will power alone so he can enjoy the aftershocks, though I don’t let go. Don’t pull out. He’s incredible, and so delicately erotic that I know I’m close. Just a little more, as soon as he’s ready for it.

“Holy _shit,_ Link.” He gasps, trembling. Coherent. Covered in sweat and spit and tears and cum. Both of ours. I don’t have much more to give, and what I do have is coming soon. He rocks back against me and moans. Ready, then.

“I’m close.” I warn him, both hands moving to hold his hips as I resume my thrusts. “I’m close!” Tilt them just so. “Almost.” This angle is perfect. He’s perfect. Beautiful. Wonderful. “Just…hold still for me. Hold still!” He freezes in place, and not to help me reach for the stars, but because he’s suddenly terrified. I can’t stop myself, having already committed to that last bit of stimulation that has me cumming again for the second time tonight.

There won’t be a third.

I know that before I’m finished filling him up. Before he disengages to wiggle out from under me and walks away with the towel between his legs. Before the bathroom door clicks closed and the lock is activated. I can hear the shower start up, and curse myself for being six kinds of idiot all at once. Yes, I found out one of his fantasies tonight, but also one of his triggers. A bad one, from the sound of it.

I have plenty of time to clean up – both the bed and myself – and set my alarm. Lay out a fresh set of pajamas for him. Change into a clean set myself. Head across the hall to the guest room’s washroom for the sake of my bladder. Review my chapter on Goron Sacred Wrestling. Organize my notes and textbooks for tomorrow. Crawl back under the covers to wait. Rehearse my questions in my head. My apologies. Worry.

I fall asleep to the steady patter of the shower running behind locked doors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These poor boys.


	3. Harmony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Link lets himself indulge. Sheik doesn't quite understand yet, but is willing to go with it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okaaaay then. Yeah. I uh...wrote almost 7K words of pure smut.  
Part 03/03 of Link's P.O.V. during Chapter 19 of Of Cake and Calamity.  
Warnings: oral sex, anal sex, Link's stamina being ridiculous.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to YoiteMichealis because I want to make them squeak.
> 
> Get yourself a box of tissues/a towel to sit on because here we gooooooooo!

“_Or maybe you could just say “I wanna fuck” and turn me over, pull down our pants, and we fuck. That’s good too_.” He said. “_Pin me down, use me. Fuck me. Please_.” He said. “_Sometimes it hurts. That just means you’re feeling too good to hold back._” He said. “_Against the wall?_” He asked, excited.

Then he slept on the couch and kept changing the subject every time I brought it up, all day today.

Fine then.

…at least I think he slept on the couch. The decorative throw and pillows made it look like he did, but he was up long before I called down for breakfast. Being quiet, and extra attentive, tending to my needs before I even registered them. My clothes. My food. My toilet rituals. My news programs. My homework. My practice gear. My evening call. Everything.

I have to move quickly if I want to do the rest myself before he does. Quietly. Earlier than he expects, to show him how much he means to me. Surprise him, in what I hope will be a good way.

“Sorry, love.” I apologize for the short conversation. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sweet dreams, babe. I know you can do it!” Encouraging. Supportive. Understanding.

Goddess, I love her so much.

Almost enough to tell her exactly what Sheik and I have to work out that’s causing me to hang up early. Not quite though. She already knows a _lot_ more than the bare fact that I have been – and want to continue – having sex with him, and is remarkably vocal about cheering me on, but…this is between the two of us. At least for the moment. If it starts to affect my other relationships, I’ll need to reconsider all of them.

She wants me to have some fun, and enjoy myself. Malon wants more pictures. I have no idea what Sheik wants, though he has indicated what he doesn’t want pretty clearly by simply withdrawing entirely. Not saying a word. It’s horribly frustrating. I just want him to be happy with our relationship…and for that to involve the kind of mutual, sensual pleasure that I know it can. Especially now that I’ve figured out some very important things.

Like where his prostate is, and how he likes me to press against it. One of his desires, and the overall nature of it. The strength it would take to fulfill it. I…don’t know if I can. Yes, I can carry him for as long as I need to, but that’s if he’s not moving and actively trying to help. We need to go to class tomorrow, and the kind of ravishing he craves could very well end in injury if I mess up any part of it. The lift, the balance…I run the scenario over and over in my head, trying to figure out how to go about it. All day.

Telma asked if I was running a fever, and I don’t remember anything I read in my textbooks. At all. Or any of the conversation at supper, even though I’m sure there was one and I’m sure I participated. I had to have participated, because Sheik is still hesitant to initiate conversation with any of the other staff – even though he talks to the kids just fine – and he was having no trouble chatting with Shad about something that even if I could have parsed what they were saying, it would have probably gone right over my head.

Magic is _boring_. Useful, but boring, and far too finicky for my tastes. Too much effort for too little in the way of results, like physics or chemistry. I don’t need to know precisely where the arc of a ball thrown into the wind will land before I throw it. I can _feel_ the difference when I actually throw it, and adjust if I miss…though some of the chemistry I do know produces very satisfying explosions.

Right now, I want a different kind of satisfaction, with a more personal chemistry…and a more interactive kind of explosion.

Goddess, I want…want him to be the kind of lover that feels safe enough to ask for me to fulfill the fantasies I _know_ he has, and to tell me to take care of it myself if he’s not interested. I’m learning as quickly as I can, the looming return to a fairly strict schedule driving me to…probably push him faster and harder towards that goal than he’s comfortable with.

He’s not Tetra, or Malon, who were both my friends for a very long time before they became my lovers. He’s himself. Kaya. My Sheik, and while sex with him is just as intense now as it was the first time – after the Bond between us formed and lets me know things about his mood that took years with either Tetra or Malon to understand – the emotional side of our relationship still needs work. He can read me easily, and now I can read him, but knowing his mood and understanding him are two very, _very_ different things.

I’ve been pushing, when maybe I need to pull instead. Entice him to come to me, on his own terms.

Alright then, mission accepted. Objective one: appearance. He can see things I can’t, and reacts in a way that can’t be mistaken on a guy every time I’ve taken my shirt off that wasn’t to change or shower, and even then.... Undoing the top three buttons lets me pull it over my head, and I toss it towards the laundry before thinking about it…then going to pick it up off the floor and putting it in the bin properly.

He’s been quiet and attentive all day today, including tending to my clothes and my space. Ulli came and cleaned while we were practicing, but she won’t be in again until breakfast tomorrow. I can clean up after myself, if only so he won’t feel the need to.

I straighten the sheets and blankets out as well, setting the lube in easy reach, then head towards the reception room where Sheik is giving his daily report to Grand Master Impa. I’ve tried listening, but…yeah. Magic.

“…time I’ll adjust the twenty-sixth pick on the weft where the ply-split binds off in the third widdershins twist, and continue to shuttle the lot through since you said felting will take as much effort as casting both would in the first place.” He shrugs as he speaks, and slides onto the couch as he listens to her reply, writing down a few notes. At some point in the last fifteen minutes, he’s found and put on the old hoodie I lent him, as well as gathered up most of the cushions and the decorative throw again, making himself a little nest to huddle into.

Which he has – this absolutely lovely ball of lean limbs, tan skin, and thick hair – which makes me smile. He’s…cute, and comfortable enough in my space to alter it to his liking, which gives me hope. Listening to the droning strains of his melody swell and taper, I catch him rubbing at his neck again, and know that even if the rest my plans for the evening fall through, I should still be able to give him a massage. Touch him gently, but firmly, so he can feel good…unlike last night. Even having to jerk off alone would be better than last night, and he deserves better than that.

His mouth drops open a little, eyes widening, when I borrow his pen to write my own note, and stays open as he reads it. It’d be so easy to kiss him right now, but – as it says in my note – he should finish talking to Grand Master Impa, get ready for tomorrow, and take his time doing it. Only then do I want him to join me in my bedroom. We need to be ready for tomorrow beforehand, because I intend to exhaust us both.

I follow my own advice, and double check that I’ve finished all my readings and assignments over the break. Aside from the Hateno Codices, I’m golden…and technically those are just recommended reading, not required. The summaries and specific excerpts are enough…but I still want to get a good mark, and that means at least passing familiarity with the source material. I can try chapter twelve again later, but there’s no way I can focus on anything but my ridiculously pretty Sheik at the moment.

He takes the text from my suddenly lax fingers and packs it away before heading into the washroom…leaving the door wide open behind him. The soft shuff of fabric and rustle of hair means I’m not surprised by his nudity when I follow him in, and impressed by the knot of his hair he’s got arranged on the top of his head. I know it lets him shower without getting too much of it wet, but it always looks so elegant and shows off the smooth line of the back of his neck and the tiny Triforce tattoo located there.

I love the intimacy of seeing his skin, with all the associated markings, and all the meanings behind them.

The bite marks I’ve left on either side where his neck becomes his shoulders. Blue bands on his biceps like jewelry. The eye over his own with the single tear drop covering his flushed cheek makes me want to touch. To taste. The red, triumphant bird of the Royal Crest on his chest centered over his heart is telling. He’s…so thin, but so much better than he was even a week ago. His skin is firmer, and not as dry. Lips fuller. Eyes brighter. His tattoos stay in one place as he lathers, thank Hylia.

I know he knows I’m watching him, because his motions aren’t just to clean, but to caress. To tease, entice, and make me want to do the same. To touch…he’s just showing me where. How. Maybe I am running a fever, but just in my hands. They itch with the need to follow as his hands drop, rubbing over the rise of his buttocks, one elegant finger sliding into the crevice as he shows me exactly what he’s doing.

“Help me clean up?” He purrs, those red eyes half lidded. For all the humidity in the air, my mouth goes dry.

Not because he’s beautiful – I’m mostly used to that by now – but because he’s…changing. For me. Showing me what to do. What he likes. Because I asked him to. Because, as anxious as he is, he’s willing to try.

“I’d love to.” I can’t hold back my grin, or the surge of pleasure that rushes through me at being allowed to give him this affection. Teaching me what I need to know, by letting me do what I think – at least theoretically – is such a simple thing for him. Or at least allowing me to learn how much work actually goes into it, all of which he’s been doing from the start.

It’s a lot, nearly twenty minutes worth of flushing and rinsing and him blushing through it all as he tells me what he’s doing and why. Explaining in more detail if I ask. The first preliminary rinse in the shower was just that, preliminary, and by the time he’s comfortable with the third full body sluice and my weapon-calloused hands trailing after his graceful fingers over his heated skin, I’m blushing pretty deeply as well.

Partially because of the conversation, but mostly out of want and the need to restrain myself and actively listen. I asked, so I should listen to his response. I…should listen. I should. I can. I just need to touch a bit at the same time, give my fondness for him a tactile form.

“It wasn’t as much of a concern...” He murmurs into the tiles, face flushed, tilting his hips into my grasp as the water trails down my back, letting me frot against his buttocks. “…since I didn’t…um…I didn’t, really, eat when I was expecting anything.”

“Sheik…” He won’t appreciate my pity, and so I try to keep as much of my concern behind my teeth as I can.

“Two eggs a day.” He shrugs. “And they come in a pack of a dozen for the week. It’s basic math.”

“Oatmeal at least?” I plead, and suck some of the water droplets from his shoulder. Run my teeth over the fading mark there. Resist the urge to renew my claim on his body…for now.

“Or rice, or lentils, yeah. But I skipped the coffee. Caffeine is a diuretic.” He hums, and turns in my grip to face me, eyes trained on my lips. Feeling the boney ridge of his hips in my hands, the firmness of his erection against my belly, I have to wonder. “If you’re worried about my eating habits, you could give me something to swallow right now. I hear dick is a great source of protein.”

“May I…” I start, hoping that maybe – since he let me help him with this decidedly more technical part of it – he’ll let me try pleasing him again. I want to taste all of him.

“…tell me how to service you? Please.” He interrupts, delicate hands sliding down to rest against my chest as he leans forward, sharing his breath. “Command me. Tell me what to do, what you want.” He breathes, and I can understand why his fellow Sheikah kept referring to him as a cat as his nails dig in just enough for me to feel it and know they’re there.

“What do _you_ want?” Turnabout is fair play, after all. Like Louise – the very first bedraggled kitten I brought home with me that sits on Telma’s lap as she works to this day - does he like tummy rubs? Back scratches? Pets? Good Lady, do I want to pet him. Listen to him purr.

“For you to resize my holes with your cock. To taste the sweat from your dick on my tongue while you shove it up my ass. For you to cover me, fill me, fuck me, _own_ me. _Master_.” The last word – panted into my ear, an unpleasant reminder of what, exactly, he is – brings me up short. Stops the kiss I was going to initiate. Makes me pull back from his flushed and heated skin.

“Kaya…” I admonish, but he’s already moved on, hands dropping to stroke my erection, lips firming to peck at my jaw.

“_Link_.” He murmurs, tongue darting out – cat-like – to lick my earlobe, his warm breath following, cool against the sensitized skin. It makes me shudder. He presses against me again, grinding us together, and reaches around my back to turn off the shower. Red eyes alight, he begs. “_Please_.”

Isn’t this…what I wanted? Continued, enthusiastic consent? Mutual pleasure? An engaging and attentive lover? I shouldn’t let one – admittedly accurate – word bother me so much. Just because it’s true doesn’t mean it determines what else we can be. I don’t _like_ it…but I do like _him_. A lot. And he wants the same thing I do, at least at the moment.

“Let me suck you?” He moans, licking some of the water from my chest, teasing my nipple with his teeth, already moving downward. After sharing the shower with him, I know I’m clean as well…and his mouth is so, so good.

“Yeah.” I agree, and he hums happily, chuckling a bit as he kneels. I brace myself against the tiles and let my hands find his hair even as his find my shaft and my thigh.

“You’ve got an amazing cock.” He sighs, pressing my length against the tear tattoo on his cheek as I try desperately to hold still and not thrust until he’s ready. “I want to feel it inside me. Want to feel _you_ inside me. Want to…mmm…_taste_ you.” He grins, and pulls back enough to lick just the very tip.

“Kaya.” I gasp, and can’t help shuddering as the sensation rips through me, making him snort softly and do it again, followed immediately by surrounding the entirety of the head with his lips. I have a moment to appreciate how insanely pretty he is – especially like this – before his eyes close and his jaw opens. Lips over teeth. Tongue pressing the underside. More, each time he bobs his head. The moan that tears up from my gut, through my chest, and out my throat echoes into the air.

He slurps, his off-hand dropping from my penis to my balls. Lifting them as he sucks. Getting my dick wet with saliva instead of water. Wet enough that he can use his dominant hand to stroke my shaft in time with the motion of his mouth and it just glides. No tugging. No discomfort. No gag reflex. I need to brace my arm against the wall and pant, but I can’t look away.

“Mmm.” He moans as I feel the moment he takes me past his hard palate and into the soft, letting me into his throat. Letting his hands still as his mouth does all the work. It helps me get ahold of myself, the delicate stimulation he can manage with his lips and teeth and tongue absent from the most sensitive parts of me. Just…warmth, and softness, and wetness, and a little bit of awe at his skill. His tenderness. At the intimacy of it all.

Petting his scalp, rubbing at his hair makes him moan around my dick and that makes me gasp, which makes him pull back and laugh with this cheeky little grin. The hand that was steadying him against my thigh shifts back again to gently caress my balls, and I thump my head against the tiles as he focusses his attention on the first third with his mouth. Now that I’m slicked with spit instead of just water, he seems determined to have me howling into the night in pleasure, tending to the most enervated parts of my swollen penis with his mouth, taking care of the rest with his hands.

He makes no effort whatsoever to muffle his lewd slurps, moist strokes, or soft sounds of pleasure that I practically drown out with my own panting approval. I only realize I’ve been tugging on his hair – on his _head_ – when everything trembles and my breath catches and he doesn’t stop swallowing until I’m done. Licks his lips, after.

That seems like a fantastic idea, so I do, too…and am definitely not a fan.

But it makes him laugh, amused, and isn’t entirely awful. Just…slimy and salty-bitter. The skin of his throat tastes much better. As does his shoulder. Salty-sweet, with electric hints of ozone in the air. His tattoo tastes the same, but there’s a slightly different texture to it that I can’t pinpoint. He gasps when I run my teeth along his sternum after my tongue, pressing himself against me. Letting me feel just how interested he is against my belly.

This _is_ what I wanted. Why I ended my call early. Why I joined him in the shower in the first place. I want to…I might not be confident enough to try everything tonight, but I can take the first steps in fulfilling part of one of his fantasies. Caressing his side while my knees recover. Gripping his hips to move him back a step for balance. Squeezing his buttocks, getting each cheek in a firm grip. Lifting. Separating. Running my finger over the divot hidden in that crevice. Frotting against his concave stomach. Listening to him pant and moan and whimper.

Picking him up, his arms wrapping around my shoulders, legs around my waist, lips around my ear.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, Goddesses, yes.” His desire clear, a match to mine. “Take me. Lay me flat and pound me hard. Fuck, yes, Link!”

Carrying him to my bed. Placing him on the towel there. Tracing his thighs with my hands. Watching them spread for me.

“You’re amazing.” I can’t help but say it, fumbling for the lube, unable to take my eyes off him.

“Hmm, you’re awfully prepared.” He teases, eyes lidded, tone a sensual purr. Yes. Good. “Plans for tonight?” He arches his head, moving his hair out of the way, giving me space to crawl over him.

“A few.” I admit, and pop the cap. Spill some lube as he takes me in hand and strokes.

“Classes start again tomorrow, going to give me a reason to remember you every sitting moment, maybe?” Raising an eyebrow, he turns towards me slightly, drawing one foot higher up, knee bent.

“Maybe, if that’s alright?” Tracing the furled opening of him with my finger leaves very little ambiguity about my intentions, but I still need to ask even now.

“Maybe I want to remember you sitting, walking, breathing, waking, and sleeping.” His hips rock against my fingertips, fingers dancing along my shaft and making me pant, the heat in my groin nearly setting me aflame. “Maybe I want you right now, with none of yesterday’s teasing bullshit.”

“Oh?” I wasn’t trying to tease. I thought I was learning, though I don’t think I have the will to argue.

“Lube is enough, you don’t need to finger me.” He huffs. “Not my first rodeo.”

“I thought you said to always…” The heat pouring off of him is intense, and his sphincter keeps twitching as I circle it. His hand keeps stroking.

“For an inexperienced partner, dammit! Just fuck me!” He interrupts, grabbing my hand with his free one and using the other to guide me closer. Startled at his sudden activity, I freeze in place. Listen to his melody, watch him breathe. He watches me in return, his crimson gaze as intense as ever, his erection pointed. I…can do better by him.

“I want to.” I smile. “It feels good, right?” I ask, and he lets go of my wrist and my dick with a groan, lying back on the towel.

“…fine. Just for today. But give me two right off or let me do it myself.” He pouts, and it would be adorable if his erection didn’t immediately start leaking. Instead, it’s just incredibly sexy.

“I’ll remember.” I tell him, and I do. His body remembers me, too, and gives beneath applied pressure.

“Oh...oh yeah.” He moans, shifting and rocking on my fingers, hands clutching at my arm and the blanket over his head. As good as he is with his mouth, the way he feels now has me responding like it never happened at all, the urgency unmistakable. I remember _his_ body, and start searching for his prostate right away, wanting him to relax for me _and_ feel amazing about it at the same time. The pressure low in my gut urging me to hurry, the desire in his eyes leaving me with no hesitation to act.

It doesn’t take me long to find it, but I do remember to tease, first, not go straight for it. Wait until he can take three fingers easily before engaging in an all-out sensual assault. Give him my weight against his side, my teeth on his neck, my praise in his ears, my legs tangled with his, and fingers pressing, stroking, relentlessly. He fairly glows in the moonlight, shimmering as he shifts beneath me, and stills, and gasps, and cums.

“Oh, fuck! Oh! Oh…” He shudders, his entire body pulsing, covering his stomach with dots and streaks of white that I clean up at the same time as I take care of my fingers before rejoining him on the bed.

“Feel good?” I ask, and he chuckles softly, still breathing hard as he rolls into my side.

“Definitely.” Lying flat on my back lets him rest his head on my shoulder, and I wonder how long I need to wait before continuing. Curl my arm beneath him, around his waist. Brush my palm against his cheek. I really don’t need to worry, because he reaches out to stroke my erection again almost immediately. “I’d feel even better with you inside me, though.”

The words I have on the tip of my tongue are swallowed when his laves at my nipple, teeth worrying at it until I forget what I was going to say. Not that it takes long. Then he switches to the other one, and I forget that words exist. There’s just sensation. Warmth. Pressure. Sound. Taste. Touch. Sheik.

He’s so wonderful, it makes my heart hurt. Out of words, all that my mouth can do is kiss him. Lying together like this, we’re close enough of a height that there may as well not be a difference at all. Feet, knees, hips, ribs, shoulders align. Lips. His red, red eyes, darkened and soft. Shimmering. Intense, opened or closed.

Closed, as I move to caress his jaw, and let my fingers dance over the hard ridge of his hip, the gentle swell of his buttocks, and tease. Mouth open, moaning, his spent shaft twitching against mine. Legs tangling. Parting. Letting my knee between his.

Rolling us over. Over top of him, kissing the flush on his cheekbones, the swell of his lip. Sliding down, tasting his sternum, hearing his breath catch. Feeling his thighs spread. Moving up. Lining up.

“May I?” Steadying myself, ready. Anticipating.

“Fuck, yes. Link, I…ah.” Panting. Tremulous and sweet. Tight. Pushing.

“Kaya…” Gasping.

“Oh, yes...” Wondrous and warm.

“…oh.” Squelching. Giving...

“Oh, _fuck_…” …gliding…

“Mm.” …a small grunt of effort, and it’s good. We’re good. Joined.

His mouth tastes of nothing more than a wetness that’s echoed imperfectly with my first thrust. And the second. Two men moving in synchronicity. His heels rise, coming to rest on the back of my thighs. Letting me move. Keeping me close.

“Fuck me.” He whispers, eyes fluttering closed, neck arching for me to nip. The lightest pressure of teeth followed by a quick dart of my tongue. Delicious. “Please, _please_, fuck me.”

“Yes.” I rasp back, supporting my upper body with my shield arm to watch him pant, hear him gasp, and tangle the fingers of my sword hand with his. Open his curled palm. Push it down. Hold him tight. Give him what he wants. What I want.

Thrust. Over and over. Until he writhes, heels lifting, digging in to my back, pulling me towards him. Into him. Closer. He’s so beautiful, I can no more deny the attraction than I can stop singing my part in the song between us. Watching the red spread from his eyes, over the bridge of his nose, down his chest, across the entire wingspan of his tattoo. His heaving ribs are softer now than I’ve seen them before, shifting beneath his skin with every gasping breath. Still…

“Mm!” The small sound is enough to draw my gaze back to his face, and I can’t tell if it was made in pain or pleasure. I try repeating the angle of our last undulation, try moving my hands to his hips to steady him as I do, and get nothing more. Nothing at all.

Considering how vocal he’s been, the glistening sheen of sweat and upright erection countered with his silence and face turned to gaze across the room at nothing, I pause. As much as I want to keep going, I pause.

“Kaya?” I question as his hands clench in a silken slither of sheets. “You okay?”

“Please don’t stop.” He murmurs to the far wall. Breath hitching. His heels dig deeper into my back as his legs tighten their grip on my waist. “Just…fuck me. Please. Mark me. Make me yours.”

“Kaya…” I don’t understand this obsession he has with waiving his autonomy in my favor, only that it is something he clearly desires. Desperately enough that, just heartbeats away from orgasm, _that_ is what he is thinking of. What satisfies him. What gets him off. “…you _are_ mine.”

Mine to have at my side. To listen to. To protect. To cherish. My friend. My lover.

My Sheik.

His arms wrap around my back and tug my full weight down onto his chest, hands burying themselves in my sweaty hair, latching on and locking my upper body in place so I can’t see his tears. I can hear them, though. Feel him shudder and gasp against my shoulder as I resume my thrusts. He feels so good.

“You’re mine.” I affirm as his harmonics align in relief and arousal, his slick shaft fairly burning against my belly as I drive into him. “It’s okay.”

“Fuck.” He burbles, voice thick with emotions too complex to name, leaving an ache in my chest matched only by the building need in my groin. I take the suggestion for what it is, and do just that as he clings to me hard enough to bruise.

Orgasm relieves some of the pressure inside me, my heart lifting and emptying alongside my balls, but leaves him holding the full load. He didn’t cum, and from the lack of expression on his sweat streaked face and intense thrum of his tones, he also didn’t really enjoy me cumming…though relief still plays the most prominent melodic line, and arousal sings a harmonic aria above. Panting, I try to make sense of everything the Bond is telling me, and can’t.

It’s confusing, to say the least. Overwhelming and diametrically opposed sensations run the full gamut, all tied together and tangled in knots, perceptible only through the Bond that I’m still learning how to interpret, let alone use. All I know is that whatever has him in its grasp, it’s strong. Hopefully my stamina will actually help the situation this time. I pet his hair and kiss him while I recover. Slip from his amazing body as softly as I can. If I feel better after cumming, so should he, especially if it’s the way he likes.

As soon as I’m feeling confident in my strength, grip, and erection, I roll him over onto his belly and tuck a pillow beneath his hips. He goes, but keeps one questioning tattoo-covered eye on me as he does. Uncertain, but submitting without a fuss…or assent.

“So I just turn you over and say “I wanna fuck”, right? Or is that the wrong order?” I prompt, unwilling to actually go any further than this without his express permission, but also knowing he doesn’t feel like I need to ask. I do. I just don’t need to do it in those exact words.

“It was the other way around, and that order assumed I was wearing pants, but yeah. Tell me you want me, how you want me, and then take me.” He murmurs, skin still sweat-streaked and flushed, tilting his hips up against my erection. Letting it slide between his dampened cheeks and the streaks of semen that decorate his skin there.

“I want you, here and now.” I growl, bending to suck at his shoulder, lifting my head enough for him to see me grin. “Like that?”

“Just like that.” He moans, and shifts to face forward, no longer hesitant or unsure, adjusting the pillow beneath his hips “Now, put it back.”

“Put what back where?” I tease, both to prolong his anticipation and to get a little clearer consent.

“By the hundred little gods.” He complains. “Slide your cock up my ass and fuck me, dammit!” He swears, which at this point is pretty much how I know he’s being entirely honest. Just like the Gorons and Zora have emphatics in their mother tongues that slip into speech in Modern Hyrulean, when my Sheik is swearing he’s communicating authentically.

“Hold yourself open for me?” I make the request as I straddle his legs, and his hands move to do just that before I finish my sentence. Despite the evidence of my last deposit, and the ring of muscle that is reddened and flexible, he's starting to dry out. He groans as I lean over his back to reach the lube and bucks up into my weight, but subsides the moment he sees what I’m doing.

A quick reapplication of lubricant over my shaft, cursory wipe of my hand on yet another rag from the pile, and I remount him with ease. He whines breathlessly, and his elegant hands shift to grab at my hips, blunted nails digging in, holding me in place once I’m securely inside. Holding still for him to adjust lets me kiss the sweaty skin of his back, and gives me a moment to appreciate how amazing this feels. How amazing he feels. Is.

“Goddess, you feel so good.” I can’t help but gasp, and he groans softly, followed by a stuttering laugh.

“I could say the same thing.” He pants, squeezing himself around me.

“Why don’t you, then?” I do have _some_ ego that wouldn’t be hurt by verbal appreciation.

“You’re not moving.” As hints go, it’s not very subtle. So I move. Long and deep and slow. Rocking us both, relentless. “Good fuck, you feel so good.” The gasped words _are_ nice to hear. The ringing harmonics of his clarified melody are nicer. The feeling of his hand in mine, of him moving in time with me, is even better.

The gasping, the giving, the joining repeat in an extended coda that sees us rise and fall and rise and fall and rise and fall until we meet in a perfect peak that leaves me collapsed over his back, my thighs shaking, heart pounding, balls twitching…and him wanting. Again. The second I can garner the coordination to roll off of his back I do, and use my fingers to find that spot inside him that will do what I haven’t been able to yet, though I’ve gotten him close. Held him just shy of it for far too long.

I barely have to brush them against his prostate to trigger the pent up explosion, and press down with all three fingers firmly in the general vicinity, sending him soaring into the heart of the sun with an exclamation and full body spasm. His eyes roll back in his head, neck stretched out, lips parted and slack as he trembles. Falls, one last time. Letting me catch him….trusting me to catch him. Of course, I do.

Utterly spent, he practically melts into the towel, not even twitching as I clean him up a bit with another rag, thankful for the new bin to put them in once they’re spent. I toss the latest out, and return to his side. The small, satisfied breaths he lets out have me chuckling, pleased with my ability to leave him simultaneously relaxed and elated.

“What’s funny?” He moans as I trail my fingers over his back and shoulder, needing to touch him, continuing the pleasant equilibrium we hover at.

“Nothing, really.” I hum, and give in to the urge to taste the skin I was just caressing. “Just happy.”

“You’re _happy_ that you have Kaepora in nine hours?” He huffs incredulously, glancing at the clock. It’s later than I thought, the time just flying by.

“Not particularly, though it will be nice to get back to a normal schedule.” I admit, even though I know it means fewer evenings like this. Wiping my fingers give me time to look, and means I can see the effect nearly two hours of sex has had on him, hear it in his exhausted breaths. “I’m happy that you continue to share yourself with me.”

He doesn’t protest the soft kiss that I need to thank him with, going so far as to roll over, making it easier to keep kissing him. Feel the warmth radiating from his flushes skin. Smell the heavy musk that blends us together. Arching over him sparks a renewal of my yearning, and lying next to him confirms I’m capable. Surprised and pleased, I wonder what he’ll think of one more round.

“You’ve given me so much…” He breathes into my grin, and I laugh because, if he’s amiable to the idea, I can give him even more. I would give him everything, if I could.

“Not complaining anymore?” I tease, knowing that even if I managed to give him even one gift, one meal, one rupee, one caress more than he feels he deserves, it would be rejected instantly. And he’s not pushing me away. Not now. Not even when I slide my fingers back into him, making him gasp.

Startled, but not surprised. Aroused. Flushed. Responsive. Amazing.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” He grouses, already rocking back against my hand. Perfect.

“Can I give you one more?” I whisper against his neck, watching the fine hairs rise and the flush of his caramel skin deepen, the squelch of my fingers moving in counterpoint to his beating heart.

“Are you trying to break a record, or just my hips?” The question is rhetorical, because he spreads his legs wide enough for me to slide back between them even as he asks it.

“Just once more, no record.” I assure him, answering anyway. I’m not a teenager anymore…though I do challenge myself to go a little longer, a little harder, give a little bit more, as often as I can. My record is twelve times in a twenty-four hour period, seven of which were alone in my shower or bed. I haven’t tried, since. I’d like to, though not tonight. Just once more, tonight. “May I?”

“I’m going to call your fiancée, and make her take responsibility.” He grumbles, still softly rocking beneath me.

“That’s fine.” I agree, instantly. A day spent in bed with both of them sounds wonderful, especially if Malon joins us as well. “Send her pictures.” I…need to recover a bit before I can get up to get a camera, and even then, don’t want to leave his side. He feels too good against me.

“No, you spoon. She’s _your_ fiancée, and that means _you _get to fulfill her perverted fantasies.” He argues, not knowing that a day spent pleasuring my lovers is more in line with _my_ perverted fantasies than any of Tetra’s. She needs more in the way of mental stimulation than I do. I could go for a day of purely physical stimulation literally any day of the week. My lady loves would get bored.

“I can’t fulfill all of them.” Shaking my head, tired, I have to rest some of my weight on him. He doesn’t seem to mind, though I know I have to be heavy. “I don’t even know all of them. Malon knows more, though I’m learning. What are some of yours?”

It’s the wrong thing to ask, though he doesn’t shut down or shut off. Just pulls away a little bit, slow and solemn.

“Goddess, later.” He deflects, and wiggles beneath me, lifting his hips up, making it easier for me to penetrate him again. “Just…hold me down for now. Pin me to the bed and fuck me.”

“Aye, aye.” It’s not the kind of soul-baring revelation I’ve heard in the romantic movies and plays that have been a staple of my entertainment diet since I started playing with Tetra in elementary school, but from him, it’s more than I expected to get. To keep him from retracting the promise of “later” – which I will hold him to – and keep his face up and open, I put his hands over his head and hold his wrists in place as lightly as I can.

Sliding into him once again is like the first day of summer vacation. Hot, exciting, welcoming, and a little bit of a mess. I’m tired, and after the first dozen thrusts I know that this round isn’t doing anything for him. He’s tired, but more than willing to give me this last bit of pleasure. I just wish he’d let me do the same for him. Somehow. Maybe a previous lover would be willing to talk, or I could try some of the things that my ladies enjoy when they want sex without penetration. That still seems to be a sticking point – pun not intended – for him, when there’s so much more we could do for each other.

He shifts to keep my hand away from his groin when I reach, though, and turns his face from both hand and lips. He does let me hold him, and holds me back. Loosely. As close to cuddling as he’s ever been while awake. I’ll take it. I like cuddling. I like sex. I like him. It’s been a good night.

So good I don’t realize how tired I am until I try kissing him again after my fourth orgasm of the evening, and miss his lips entirely. Miss most of his face, honestly, as my arms give out and I slowly collapse over top of him. I should probably pull out. Get off of him so he can clean up. He likes being clean. I don’t mind the mess, really, and he’s so very…very…

…lovely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else not smoke but need a cigarette? Or smoke and need one? Tell me in the comments. v(-.^)
> 
> Other crumbs from The Calamity is Calling universe WILL be posted here, but unfortunately this is the last of this particular side story. Stay tuned!


	4. Dissonance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This Crumb takes place mid-way through chapter 20 of Unleavened, referencing chapter 19, and in relation to Sheik's backstory presented in Of Cake and Calamity.
> 
> Written in Mr. Derorin's POV (Derorin Boy is an enemy in Freshly Picked Tingle's Rosy Rupeeland, a Zelda-adjacent game)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains triggers for a lot of different things, and is not necessary reading to understand the plot or characterizations of the main The Calamity is Calling storyline. If any of the warnings upset or bother you, don't bother reading this. You don't need to.
> 
> TW: Survival Sex Work, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, Racism, Classism, Objectification, Voyeurism, Masturbation, Use of Sex Toys, Use of Recreational Drugs  
Warnings: Heavy Slang, Language, Anal Sex

When my oldest brother’s third wife’s sister showed up on my doorstep with her thirteen year old son and left him there without a word, I knew. Knew what they thought, of both of us. What they expected. Arseholes.

I thought I had escaped.

Turns out, we both did.

He was a good kid. A little stupid, perhaps, but honest about it. He didn’t deserve what they gave him, which was nothin’ but the clothes on his back and a fucked up education that ain’t no good in the real world. I ain’t no arsehole, so I took the boy in. He got big real fast, but not much smarter. I managed to hide the fact I’m a wilting violet for a good four years before he followed me to the bar and found out I weren’t just drinkin’ beer.

Bein’ violet hisself, boy had some questions. Not bein’ related, not really, it was only a little weird showin’ him the ropes, and most of that I left off to the workin’ boys, key holders, and gardeners at Ikana. Like most violets, he’s sunwise, flip-floppin’ as the situation unfolds, so he was taken care of real good. Bein’ a boy hisself, weren’t many men that wanted to wilt for him, even though he’s built like a brick-shithouse and his cock’s as thick as a can of cheap, caffeinated energy-drink.

If I were fifteen years younger, and he weren’t my oldest brother’s third wife’s sister’s kid, I wouldn’t still be lookin’ for something better than a hook-up or paid companionship. If he were fifteen years older, and I weren’t his uncle-something-twice-removed by marriage, he wouldn’t be lookin’ neither. We get on well enough, and if we’re poor, at least we’re not arseholes. We talk, some. Mostly he talks, and I listen, and steer him back on track when he veers off a little _too_ hard.

‘Cause of that, I know that he’s been lookin’ at an independent he calls Spooky for at least a year, and I can see why. Spooky’s _quite_ the looker, if you like that kind of thing. Trim and delicate and pretty as a girl, with stupid long hair to boot. Ain’t for me. Not that there’s anythin’ wrong with bein’ like that, or likin’ that, but ain’t for me. I like my men manly, beefy, and aggressive, which a bitty-little waif like him ain’t never gonna be no matter how many ‘protein shakes’ he swallows.

Even looking like something that was scraped outta the bin and then stepped on, he’s head-turnin’ pretty. That ain’t why I stared at him, though. I prolly weirded him out while I was doin’ it, but _shit_. After not seein’ him for a month, and then havin’ him walk into my shop lookin’ like the Dark Realm, I was just glad he ain’t been snatched or ganked. Too many of the workin’ boys at Ikana disappear like that, and ain’t never found.

Spooky’s…doin’ okay. Got hisself a gardener and everythin’. Maybe even a patron. I don’t know – and I ain’t askin’, seeing as it ain’t my business – but prolly just a gardener. Patrons like exclusivity, and have a fuck load of cash with more where that came from. Since they ain’t gots either and still gots to pay, I needed to balance it out, even if they _are_ just a pair of shit-on-they-luck kids.

“That’s five meals, a bed, a load of laundry, medicine, and help with transport.” I tally up the receipt with our agreed upon reckonin’, and hit one hundred and twenty one rupees, thirty-six shards. My Boy lays the last of the duffle bags against the bikes against the wall, meanin’ we gotta walk all the way ‘round through the kitchen to get to the shitter, but it gives Spooky a clear view of the bougie Hylian he’s got ploughin’ him as the man sleeps off his healin’ on my bed.

“That’s seventy-eight sixty-four less than you’re usual.” My Boy says, pullin’ out his chair to sit on it backwards. I don’t complain about it no more, since he only does it so he can hook his legs underneath easier. Being as big as he is, a lot of my furniture is just too small for him.

“Use the extra to keep Pyle fed, and I’ll consider us even.” Spooky shrugs, fittin’ in my chair easy. “I _am_ going to insist on a condom, however, and no kissing at any point.”

“And Daddy can watch?” My Boy asks. He’s so considerate.

“That was the deal, yeah. No cameras though.”

“Of course.” That much is easy to agree to. My hands’ll be much too busy to hold a camera anyroad.

“Then we’re good.” Spooky nods, standin’ and flippin’ his long-ass braid over his shoulder. “How do you want to do this?” With my bed occupied, and my Boy in the smaller bedroom, it’s a fair question. ‘Specially since I won’t see nothing’ good if my Boy climbs on top missionary style. I don’t wanna see his ass bouncing and Spooky’s feet in the air. I wanna see Spooky stretched out and _rammed._ Maybe remember what it was like to be that young and flexible myself.

“I wanna see you naked…” My Boy is practically drooling through his shorts. “…and I want to do you from behind, so Daddy can see.”

“Kneel on the couch. You can brace against the back.” I suggest. With the stove light on, I should get a good view.

“Fine. I’ll clean up.” Spooky agrees, and heads to the bathroom. I have an enema kit in there, but, as fond as I am of him, my Boy won’t take that long. He doesn’t save enough of his money to get the workin’ boys bent beyond their knees more than two or three times a year, and has never been able to afford a key holder, let alone an independent like Spooky.

If he’s half as good as his reputation, two hundred a go is worth the price. Pretty little whore’s gotta have all the experience the rumors say, with a face and body like that. I’m _almost_ curious enough to be interested, and I like wiltin’ _way_ more than ploughin’. If he can take my Boy’s soda can cock on the first try, I’d be surprised, but he’s been professional enough so far that I know he’ll satisfy our arrangement. If my Boy is happy with him, I may even think about bookin’ Spooky for his next birthday.

“Thank you, Daddy.” Grinnin’ a thousand watt grin, my Boy wastes no time grabbin’ the lube and a condom from his room while I pull one of the kitchen chairs over to the side of the couch so I can watch better. I know my Boy’s impatient when he don’t bother takin’ off his socks before rollin’ on the condom, and I grab a popper to help things along. Not for Spooky – that wasn’t discussed – but for me. The Dildonator 3000 is a hefty piece of machinery, and the suction cup at the base sticks to the plastic chairs real good.

I’ll give him this, Spooky is fast. I’ve barely got everythin’ plugged in and my starfish slicked when he comes out of the shitter naked as a jay bird and twice as colorful. His hair is still braided up and bound, but I can tell why he’s popular enough to be picky about who gets to turn him over and dig in the dirt.

He either walks a lot and does a decent amount of interval sprints, or was hangin’ around Pyle to talk about those damn skateboards. Spooky’s never been fat, and it shows in just _how_ lean he is, but he gets enough of a workout to have a nice, perky little butt. A bit _too_ thin, sure, but given what the ideal wiltin’ violet is in the pornos he watches, it’s not a surprise that my Boy likes that. I’m more interested in his cock, which ain’t hard…but ain’t entirely soft, and is a decent size for a spook his height. Nothin’ spectacular, but nothin’ to scoff at neither.

Tasty, either way, but we ain’t discussed his rates for nibblin’, and I _do _have a shop to mind in the mornin’.

The dark skin and light hair means he don’t really need to shave, and he ain’t been blessed with much to begin with. A bit in his pits, enough to make his chest glow in the low light, and a patch that looks like one of the Golden Triangles of the Goddesses, and that’s it for body hair. Unsurprisingly, he’s got a few scars, but nothin’ huge or ugly, and definitely not so poorly tended that they’re real noticeable. He could pierce his belly button easy enough as a distraction, and ain’t no one gonna see even one of ‘em.

Honest, it’s the ink that catches my fancy. The bands of blue on his arms aren’t anythin’ too outrageous, though they do make his coastal spook skin fairly glow. It’s the big red bird on his chest – matchin’ the red of the stylized eye on his face – that makes me stare. The wings arch out over his pecs, makin’ his shoulders look broader, and I get that. If I were as delicate as he is, I’d want to look a bit stronger than I were, too. I’d have made the bird’s talons be pinchin’ my nips though, just to encourage my partners to do the same…maybe pierce those as well.

“Damn, Spooky. When’d you get that done?” My Boy asks, trailin’ his fingers across the inked skin on display. “That why you’ve been gone so long?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He snorts, then gasps as my Boy does what I was hopin’ for, and pinches and twists them brown-sugar nubs.

“Heh, once a pain junkie, always a pain junkie.” Dipping his head to lick the reddened skin, my Boy takes his time tracin’ Spooky’s tattoos. I use my time to inhale my popper, breath in the rush, and use that quick hit to sink down on my second favorite toy. I won’t turn it on, not yet, but I won’t be goin’ anywhere else, either. “Fuck, you’re a sexy little bitch.”

“Is your Daddy paying for you to sweet talk me?” Spooky hums, pressin’ hisself against my boy and grabbin’ his cock. Strokin’ it. Teasin’, but also testin’ how securely he put on the condom. After getting’ stealthed a few too many times, I know that move well. “Not that I don’t appreciate the compliment.”

“He’s paying for me to fuck you.” My Boy growls, low and guttural and fuckin’ hot as he grabs Spooky’s ass in return, spreadin’ his cheeks and runnin’ his fingers over the money maker. Spooky’s into it, grindin’ back on his hands instead of forward onto his thigh, and my Boy slaps that perky arse with a flat palm to turn it nice and red. “Gonna fuck you _hard_.”

“Well then, what are you waiting for?” Spooky laughs, liftin’ a knee up around my Boy’s thigh so his fingers have better access.

“Get on the couch. Spread your legs.” My Boy demands, slappin’ Spooky’s arse again to get him to go there faster. He goes gracefully, arms on the back of the couch, braid flipped over it, head on his arms, knees wide enough for my Boy to move between them, hips tilted up, showin’ off his tight little arsehole.

It’s a practiced movement, one he’s done easily hundreds of times, and it’s _fuckin’_ hot, vergin’ on lewd. I can’t help but rock a little bit, feelin’ my toy shift as I move and my Boy grabs the bottle of lube to squirt a shot right up there. Spooky takes two fingers like they’re nothin’, and only huffs out a breath when they twist. His Hylian friend must have done him recently for that fast of a response, no matter how long he’s been workin’ for his rent.

Ah, to be that young again, but without the kind of competition Spooky represents. Goddess, I’ll be sore for days after playin’ tonight. My twenties are way too far behind me to get fucked without walkin’ funny for days after, even if it is just a toy. And a live show that’s already worth more than the cover at Ikana just for the smooth curve of tight twink ass on display.

I taught my Boy right, though. He don’t pull no pump and dump, _ever_, but even with the fingerin’, it’s gonna be a stretch. He’s massive and a little dumb, but has _manners._ Still, Spooky’s sweatin’ with the effort of openin’ up for it. I’d offer a popper to help, but my toy’s in place and it’s been too damn long since I last sawr a full service whore doin’ their job, let alone doin’ it _well_. I don’t wanna miss a bit of it.

Even kneelin’ on the couch, Spooky is too far beneath my Boy when he first tries mountin’ the pretty little slut. The angle is all wrong, and he can’t get more than the head in before it slips out under pressure. Shovin’ two flattened couch cushions under Spooky’s knees lifts him up enough for a retry, but throws him off balance and half over the back of the couch, meanin’ my Boy’s got to hold him steady with one hand and hold hisself steady with the other.

I’m just glad my couch is so sturdy. Any lighter and it’d be sliding along the floor and damaging the drywall, and they ain’t even fuckin’ yet. Won’t be long until they _is_, that’s for certain sure, but not yet.

My Boy leans in, and then they is.

“That’s it, give it to him.” I moan, my own toy imitatin’ the living art on the worn cushions of my second-hand couch. Once my Boy has his cockhead past that pucker, Spooky keeps his arse in place for him to adjust his grip and his stance. It’s careful work…

“Oh, that’s fucking _tight_.” …but it works. One good, long push sees my Boy’s massive cock disappear, and proves that Spooky sure does know what he’s about.

“Ngh, hnyah. Ah! Oh…fuck.” He whines, face fallin’ to his braced arms, but he takes it. All of it.

I turn the Dildonator 3000 on to its lowest settin’ and sit back to enjoy the ride and the show.

Courtesy demands a moment of appreciation for your partner, which lets Spooky shift hisself around the cock up his arse. I gotta shift too, in sympathy, ‘cause as good at it feels to get fucked, there’s a lot of effort that goes into it that most gardeners don’t appreciate. I know, and can relate. So can my Boy. He’s a good boy, and gives Spooky a few practice thrusts to get used to the stretch.

He’s also kind of stupid, and can’t really process more than one thing at a time…and he’s wanted to ruin Spooky’s arse for _years_.

“Get it, Boy.” I gasp, and turn it up a notch. Gettin’ that arse – and gettin’ it without the line-up waitin’ their turn, on a couch instead of a toilet, where he can take his time, with only one peepin’ creeper – is a dream come true. It sure don’t take long for my Boy to forget his manners and his leisure and give in to the need to cum.

“Nn. Nn! Nn. _Nn_. Ha. Hn. _Nn_. Ngn. Nn.” The half-syllable grunts as he fucks Spooky _hard_ cover up the softer sounds Spooky hisself makes, but not the wet squelchin’ of a third of a meter of cock ploughin’ out the dirt road. If I close my eyes and pretend, it’s almost like I’m with Denyasu again, before he got catfished by some art student and taken for every shard he had, includin’ what funds was supposed to be for child support.

I should visit him again, later. Once everything is back to normal, and I can get to the Pen without it takin’ a whole day. I have a business to run, and a Boy to support. Speakin’ of which, he’s breathin’ hard, and Spooky’s lookin’ pretty well beat. It’s been a long day for them both, and my day starts early tomorrow. Time to wrap this up.

“You gonna cum, Boy?” I pant, changin’ my toy’s pattern to one that’ll knock my prostate silly and is guaranteed to get me off real quick.

“Yeah…” Spooky grunts. “…ha…y-yeah. Mm.” Which makes my Boy chuckle, and renew his efforts. Not the boy I was askin’, and that answer raises more questions than I can handle with a Dildonator 3000 pounding me like that.

_Just_ like that. _Fuck_. I can’t help matchin’ my bouncin’ to my Boy’s rhythm, the steady thwap of his balls against Spooky’s arse. Fuck, yeah. Oh, fuck _yeah_.

“Get it! Get it, boy!” My toy keeps right on buzzin’, right where I need it. Thank the Goddess the power’s back on, or I’d be stuck between my fingers and my fist and not satisfied with either. As is, Ima ‘bout to _blow_.

Spooky huffs out a laugh and reaches out just far enough to tweak my nipple, and I clamp down and cum harder than I have in _years_. Hard enough that my chair squeaks in protest. Hard enough that he has to close his eyes against a face full of spunk, though most of it lands on the couch.

That’s why it’s leather. It’s easier to clean.

Later. _Holy Hylia_.

Oblivious to my orgasm, my toy keeps spinnin’ and pulsin’ almost as quickly as my Boy pounds Spooky into the couch, having given up all pretense of savorin’ the moment. Spooky don’t seem to mind, his eyes gone glassy as he bites into his braid tryin’ to keep quiet. Watchin’ the sleepin’ Hylian like he’s gonna disappear if Spooky so much as blinks.

“Oh, fuck!” My Boy whines, flattenin’ hisself against Spooky’s back, grabbin’ his hips, and pumpin’ out his load into the condom as deep as he can in the little whore’s arse. I get to see Spooky arch into it, droppin’ his chest as he’s shoved into the cushions to give my Boy a better breedin’ angle. Stayin’ still and quiet for him to get in a dozen or so more thrusts after the last spurt, finish, and recover his breath, despite being close enough hisself that the slightest stimulation would get him to cum, too.

Forget two hundred rupees. Spooky should be chargin’ twice that for this kind of service. It’s professional grade. Not even the key holders’ll give you your nut at the expense of their own. Why Spooky would…

…he’s prolly unlicensed. Most of the workin’ boys in Ikana aren’t legal, even if they have the trainin’. Maybe that’s why he done disappeared, and keeps lookin’ at that Hylian lad like he hung the moon and the stars both. It would certainly explain why – as soon as my Boy rolls off of him – he goes to the bathroom and cleans up, then curls up next to the handsome young Hylian without jerkin’ hisself off. That’s not the kind of loyalty I’d ask for if I were cultivatin’ a violet of my very own, but if Spooky wants it, I ain’t gonna complain.

They’re awful cute together.

I clean up next, since Outset opens at six sharp, and have to crack a window before gettin’ a rag to clear out some of the spunk funk and mop up the mess. The couch ain’t that bad to sleep on, and even if they’re cute, I don’t trust them to not lift anythin’ overnight. Takin’ the door off the hinges just takes a second, as does settin’ the alarm on the door. My Boy will sleep until ten once he’s done showerin’, so if they try and run off before he’s up, I’ll know.

They don’t, though the moment I flick on the lights – finally workin’ again, _thank you_ Goddess – the Hylian lad stirs for the first time since all the screamin’ at the vet’s. The very first thing he does is check on Spooky, so whatever they are to each other, it works, and they’ll be alright. I’m surprised he woke up so soon after that kind of healin’, but not that he crashes again soon as he knows Spooky’s alright.

I go to work. Sandwiches ain’t gonna make themselves, and what with the shit and monsters outside, I got more custom than usual.

Plus two. Breakfast was included in Spooky’s receipt, so even though an Outset Early Riser is greasy as fuck, I hand ‘em over without a word. He’s earned it, and the little surprise over at Ripped and Shredded that he gets when I send him over there with Pyle’s breakfast. They leave with their bikes less than an hour later, and I wish them all the luck in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You made it! 
> 
> ...poor Sheik.


End file.
